By All Accounts, Today Was A Disaster
by RationalCashew
Summary: Post-En Ami. We always get pissed off Mulder. Here's some pissed off Scully. I have this HC where our favorite goobers have a knock-down, drag out argument after leaving the empty offices. This is the aftermath of that argument.


The crippling anger threatened to bleed out of her in the form of tears.

_Run_.

Everything inside of her screamed to get out of there. So, that's exactly what she did. She left. She left him in the wake of his words and didn't give a damn if he felt bad about it; she didn't want an apology.

Not this time.

She'd thought that they belonged to each other. They hadn't said the words, specifically, but it was always in their actions. Every time they sat as a sentry for the other in a cold, sterile hospital room. Every time they fought for each other against the nameless, faceless terrors of the night and of the day. Every time he brought her coffee from her favorite coffee shop or when she replaced his depleted—or, nearly depleted— supply of sunflower seeds.

He'd gone to Antarctica for her. She'd gone to Africa for him. There was a time when they'd fight and die for each other and Scully couldn't figure out when that changed. How did that change in the blink of an eye?

In fact, it was only when he was spouting what were possibly the most painful words she'd ever been on the receiving end of that Mulder had looked her in the eye—_truly_ looked her in the eye in... she didn't know how long.

He was so goddamned possessive sometimes and then, other times, he didn't give a damn about anything else; treated her hardly better than a stranger. There were times when he behaved like a jilted lover; although, she'd never given him a reason to be one. There were times when he behaved like task master rather than a partner. There were times when she felt like a scolded child instead of the grown woman that she was.

That had been one of those times.

It was only when she was out of the building and in her car that she let the tears fall. She didn't want to feel like this; she didn't deserve it. He, sure as hell, didn't deserve to see her tears; he didn't deserve them at all. But, they fell anyway.

She'd heard before that the definition of 'insanity' was doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome. It was enough to tell her one of two things, possibly both: 1. He'd never fully trust her, despite his protests on the subject and, 2. She was a masochist.

Scully had been given cancer. Her opportunity to be a mother had been stolen from her. A goddamned chip in her neck was the only thing keeping her alive. But, that teeny, tiny piece of technology slowly killed her anyway. Maybe, not a physical death. Her body wasn't decaying or failing. In fact, despite her ova being stolen, she was probably the healthiest she'd ever been. It seemed to tear away at her life in other areas -- happiness, for example. Its constant presence was a reminder of all she'd survived, all that she never should've had to face.

And, still, she couldn't get enough.

Until now.

Until she finally saw it for what it was.

All the running around, the never-ending quest for answers they'd probably never find, the emotional rollercoaster they rode far too often... it was all taking its toll. At least _before_ there had always been something that made it worth it: a genuine smile on his face that sent a jolt through her and made her smile in return, a tight hug or kisses to foreheads, his arms around her as they cuddled together to watch a movie on a couch. When he kissed her on New Year's Eve. When he'd kissed her after that. When she'd kissed him.

There was always _something_ that said, "don't give up on me, yet."

But, she was dangerously close to doing just that.

And, why shouldn't she?

It was never _her_ quest, _her_ fight. He'd made that abundantly clear.

Well, fuck him. If he wanted it all to himself, she had half a mind to let him have it; to let him do it on his own and deal with the fallout alone.

It wouldn't make a difference, though, she realized. Scully heaved a sigh. Mulder would just be Mulder about it and she would come running to his rescue because that was just what she did.

She was his partner when it was convenient for him. Part of Scully wondered if that had extended to their friendship—or worse, their personal relationship. If that's even what they had. They'd never really talked about it, not really. It just, sort of, happened. Now, she wondered if she'd completely misread all of his signals.

And, it hurt.

So. Damn. Badly.

If he would take one minute and look her in the eye, he'd see all the pain she carried; he'd see her scars. Mulder would see that he was her remedy, that small pocket of joy she couldn't wait to experience when they were off the FBI clock and had long disappeared into Washington, D.C. — whether that looked like a quiet night in or falling asleep to the other on the other end of the phone.

She thought that he saw that, but, apparently, she'd been wrong.

For all his talk about being a better person, a _whole_ person—an honest person, the fact remained that he was lying. Whether he was lying to her or to himself was, and probably would always be, unclear. All she knew was that she couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't take the pain, the emotional turmoil. She was tired of second guessing _everything_.

Somewhere along the way, she'd become numb. Numb to her wants. Numb to her desires. Numb to her ambition; _her_ plans and dreams.

If this was what he wanted, then fuck him. He could have it. He could have every fucking bit of it.

She'd had the chance to get her answers. Was she misguided? Maybe—no. No, she hadn't been. The smug bastard would've done the same damn thing and he wouldn't have called, left a note, or sent the tapes. He'd have left her. He'd have left her to worry about him and panic over the possibilities of what could have happened to him and he wouldn't think twice about it.

Scully was tired of only feeling the things she felt when he found a new way to cut her, to make her bleed. She needed to walk away from him. She needed to figure out who she was without him again.

Could she even do that: be without him?

He'd been part of her do so long that she wasn't sure if she could do that anymore.

Try as she might, she belonged to him; even if she didn't have him. Not in the way she thought she did.

How was it that the one thing that made her feel so overwhelmingly could kill her inside? When did she allow herself to become this person? She'd never been that person.

A knock on her door tore Scully from her angry reverie. She glanced at the glass of wine in her hand and, then, to the nearly-empty bottle on the coffee table.

When did she drink all of that?

"Scully?"

She held her breath in response. Nope. She was not about to have this conversation with him -- Scully didn't want to have _any_ conversation with him.

If she did, she wouldn't leave. He'd pull her right back in because only Fox Fucking Mulder had that kind of power over her. She fucking hated it, too.

Bastard.

"Scully?" He asked again and she realized that the light was on and he could probably see it under the door despite the carpet.

"Go home, Mulder," she called back.

She heard him lean his head on the door.

"Please," he implored her, "let me in?"

Scully swallowed back her anger, her hurt. No. He was not walking through that door. Not tonight.

"Use your key," she sighed.

Scully frowned in response to herself. That hadn't been what she'd meant to say. She'd meant to tell him to fuck off... or, something along those lines. She found herself staggering her way to the door as she heard the key enter the lock. She'd barely gotten to it when it was opening.

He looked pitiful.

No. She wouldn't let the eyes work on her. Not this time.

But, she didn't have to say anything. His lips were on hers before she knew what was happening. After a moment, she pulled away and took a step back, steeling herself.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

She scoffed, she wanted to ask him if he was sorry for being an asshole or for kissing her.

"Both," he said and she realized she'd thought the words aloud.

Damn wine.

"Both," she spat back.

"Yeah," he sighed. Scully rolled her eyes and proceeded back to her spot on he couch as he shut the door and followed her. "I'm sorry that I kissed you before apologizing and I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't..." he heaved a breath like he was steadying himself. She was too drunk to care. "I didn't react like I should've. At least, I don't think I did. I could've handled it better."

"So, why didn't you?"

Scully was well aware of the glare plastered on her face. She was aware of her harsh tones. However, she wasn't sorry and it wasn't because of the wine.

"I was scared. I was processing, I guess. I don't know. I don't really have a good answer for that." There was something almost shy about the way he said it. He sat at the other end of the couch.

"You would've done the same damn thing,

Mulder. If he had approached you, you would've gone with him, too."

"Scully, I—."

"Shut up, Mulder," she snapped and his jaw snapped shut. "You had your say. It's my turn." Scully scoffed. "You do the same thing. _All the time_. You run off, half-cocked, without so much as note."

"It's different."

It took every ounce of self-control she still possessed in her inebriated state not to slap the shit out of him.

"Different," she spat back. "How is it different, Mulder? _How_?"

Before she could continue her tirade, he interjected, "I was scared, Scully. He took you once. You went with him _willingly_!"

"You do _not_ get to use that! Do you honestly think that I don't worry about you every time you run off without any hint of where you're going? At least, I called! I sent you the tapes—yes, I know, you didn't get them, but I sent them. How many times have _you_ done something like that?"

He looked like she'd slapped him. Although, as angry as she was, if she'd slapped him, she'd have left a handprint.

They stood in a heated silence for what felt like several minutes.

Finally, she sighed and said, "just go home, Mulder."

"I was already at home," he replied quietly. Scully rolled her eyes. "Don't...don't do that."

"What?"

"Act like I don't care. This is _killing_ me, Scully. I don't know how to make it stop."

She studied him. He looked like was about to cry.

"Make what stop?" She asked quietly in return.

"Whatever this feeling is. I don't like it."

"You wouldn't even acknowledge that I was there when the Gunmen were looking at that disc. You wouldn't even look at me."

Guilt played across his features and his gaze went to the floor. "I couldn't look at you because I was afraid of what I might say; that I'd say something I didn't mean and ruin this."

"This."

Scully mentally kicked herself. Apparently, angry and drunk Scully just repeated everything that was said to her.

"Yes, _this_," he seemed to be getting angry now. "Us."

"What 'us', Mulder?" she demanded. "You do everything on your own, on your own terms, and you don't give a damn about how it effects me until something bad happens. You run off all the time without any regard for what I go through when I can't reach you. You've said it before that this is _your_ fight. So, why should I even—." She stopped herself. It was that or cry and she wasn't about to let him have the tears.

Mulder blanched. His jaw clenched several times before he finally ran a hand over his mouth and said in a near whisper, "Are you... are you breaking up with me?" Before she could reply, he added, "because, if you are, I..." he exhaled a heavy breath.

Scully sighed. "Mulder, I'm not...I can't..." She exhaled, gathering her thoughts before continuing. "What are we, Mulder? Are we partners or-or friends or together. I don't know anymore."

"I, uh… I guess that's up to you. Just do me a favor." He met her gaze, the tears in his eyes matched her own. "If you're breaking up with me, then leave. Leave the X-Files because I cannot see you every single day, feeling how I feel and knowing what I lost. It would kill me. I can't take it."

Scully felt a tear slip down her cheek. He rose from the couch and started for the door before turning sharply on his heel to face her.

"You know why I was so upset? It wasn't so much that you went with him and lied to me about it -- although, yes, that did hurt. I realized two things while you were gone. I realized that I didn't really know what fear felt like—pure, abject fear until I couldn't find or get ahold of you. And, two, I realized that I never told you I love you." He paused and added, "Well, I guess, I actually did tell you but you just rolled your eyes." Mulder scoffed and added, "I guess, I should've taken the hint."

"You were high as a kite," Scully deadpanned.

"I wasn't, actually. But, even if I was, it doesn't mean I didn't mean it." He sighed. "I guess, I thought that you felt the same."

"Damn it, Mulder!" she snapped. "If you haven't figured it out by now, that's on you."

"Figured _what_ out, Scully?" He snapped back. "I don't know where we stand! All I know is how I feel. I go crazy when you're not around — you're like fucking drug. You're the first thing I think about when I wake up and the last thing I think about when I'm going to sleep. Movie night is my favorite night of the week because you're with me eating nasty popcorn—sorry, but it kind of tastes like salty packing peanuts without the butter, but you always end up with your head on my shoulder and I don't want to breathe because I'm afraid that I might mess it up and it'll be the last time. I just—."

Scully sighed and wrapped her arms around him, wondering when she'd left the couch and ended up standing in front of him.

When she pulled away, he looked like he was in pain. Physical pain.

"I need to know where you stand," he said. "Because I know where I'm at. I'm in love with you and if you're not—."

"I love you, too," she said so quietly that she barely heard herself. He heard her, though. She could tell by the soft look on his face and in his eyes.

"You do?"

Scully nodded. A smile creeped onto his face before being replaced with a somber look.

"Are we going to be okay?" He asked.

"I don't know, Mulder. We have a lot to talk about."

"So, let's talk."

"Not tonight," she sighed. "I'm exhausted."

Mulder nodded. "I'm ready when you are. Okay? Just say when." He pulled her to him, wrapping his strong arms around her confidently. "Hey, Scully?"

"Hmm?" She replied into his chest.

"I think we just survived our first fight."

"We fight all the time."

"I meant as a couple."

She chuckled into him and said, "You're an idiot."

"Yeah, but, I'm _your_ idiot."

"Mm."

When she pulled away, he tucked a errant strand of hair behind her ear and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

"Get some sleep. You can call me when your hangover is over."

She frowned and he laughed before pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay," she replied. He turned to leave, but she stopped him. "Mulder."

"Yeah?"

"You don't have to, but you can stay if you want."

He looked like he'd just been given a winning lottery ticket.

"Are you sure? I'm not really sure how to handle Hungover Scully."

"Give her water and aspirin," she retorted and he laughed. "It's up to you but, either way, lock the door. I'm going to bed."

When Scully woke, her head pounded and she felt heavy. The heaviness was something new. It took a moment to realize that she was in bed with someone and, suddenly, the events of the day and night before had played through her mind.

Mulder.

He'd stayed. And, he was spooned against her back.

She rolled over in Mulder's arms to find him sleeping peacefully beside her. Gently, she traced his jaw with her finger. When her fingers brushed his lips, he kissed them and she smiled. He didn't open his eyes but, rather, pulled her more tightly to him and Scully wondered if he'd even woke.

It didn't really matter.

He was there.

She rested her pounding head against his chest and shut her eyes, breathing in his scent before drifting back to sleep.


End file.
